Haste
by Parad0xotaur
Summary: <html><head></head>The normally thoughtful Hawke fouls up royally while showing off for Varric at Isabela's expense. Varric saves the day, Hawke redeems himself, and Isabela wins in the end. Rated M. M!/Isabela</html>
1. Wager

**A/N:** Rated M for language and smexy times. Innocents, avert thy eyes. M!/Isabela.

For Crisium, because, to say that Isabela isn't magical is "lies and slander". I stand corrected and have you to thank.

The normally thoughtful Hawke fouls up royally while showing off for Varric at Isabela's expense. Varric saves the day, Hawke redeems himself, and Isabela wins in the end.

Update: FF was dropping my crammed together Isabela-speak. Should be fixed now.

Update 2: Tweaking dialogue, punctuation, etc. Chapter 3 also has added nuances. I like it better; hope you do too.

* * *

><p>"Corff,HowmanyhaveIhad?" Isabela asked the bar keep.<p>

He put the glass he been drying into a cubbyhole behind the bar. "That's your seventh," he replied with a raised brow, then continued to himself, "_By this point, you're usually falling off the table you were dancing on..._"

Isabela huffed a sigh, finished her drink ("_HowdidIdothatsoquickly?_"), then turned ("_Ugh,Badidea._") toward her apartment in the Hanged Man. Stumbling, she inadvertently shoved her breasts into the faces of three men, a woman, and the tavern mabari, yet navigated the crowded tavern in record time. With the stairs in sight, she accidentally knocked into Norah (who, in turn, spilled a tray full of drinks on a patron's head). "_This'dbefunifIweren'tso__**dizzy**_," the pirate thought as she unintentionally sprinted up the stairs, "___Well,exceptforthepervertdog_ _."_

"You 'ver see darkspaw' in Fereld-?"

Isabela's feet stopped before the rest of her did. The talkative twit had the **gall** to _**nuzzle**_ her mabari-licked breasts before she could scramble off of him. "Getoutofmyway!" she shrieked, her liquor threatening to leave the way it came.

...And then it did.

"Ugh,sorry,Norah!" she called, then to herself, "_ _Sorta,heh..._Ow,my__**head**_."

Varric stepped in her vomit as he exited his room. "Rivani! What the hell!"

"Sorry,Idon'tknowwhat'swrongwithmetoday!" she blurted.

He knew. The dwarf shook her puke from his boot. "_Guess, I owe Hawke his sovereigns. How the hell is he been casting from __**Hightown**__?_" he mused. "Come on, I'll help you to your room," he said, offering her his hand.

"Couldyoujustopenthedoor?" she asked, "Idon'twanttoshovemytitsinto_**your**_facetoo—Ineedabathasitis."

He had Hawke to thank for the view as she skittered down the hall on all fours. "I can help you undress too-"

"VARRIC!"

"Fine," he said, sauntering over. "I'll go get Hawke after I draw your bath."

"Believeitornot,Idon'twant**sex**rightnow,Varric," she muttered, miserably, "IneedAnders. Hmph,if_Justice_willlethimcome."

"...Hm...no, Rivani, you need Hawke. Trust me."

* * *

><p>"Welp, you did it. When I left her, she was scrubbing puke out of her hair. At the rate she's going, she'll be bald by the time you get there." said Varric, strolling into Hawke's library.<p>

Not fully hearing what his friend said, Hawke stopped casting, chuckled, and replied, "But it's not even time for Wicked Grace yet. ...Are you saying that you're _conceding_ on our bet?"

"You should see her, Hawke. 'Wreck' doesn't cover it."

"Hm-hmm. I _will_. ...Have my gold?"

"Right here," as he dropped the pouch into Hawke's hand. Hawke, in turn, set the pouch on his desk among the empty lyrium bottles.

"You know I'll just win that back from you tonight."

"No, Varric, no Wicked Grace for me tonight," he said, waggling his brows.

Varric turned for the door and called, "Hey Hawke, out of curiosity, did you tell her about our little wager?"

"No. ...Why?"

* * *

><p>"Rough day?" Hawke asked, leaning against the door frame.<p>

Isabela's eyes slowly opened as she flopped her head in his direction. "Yes," she said simply.

With that, he felt a sharp pang in his gut that caused him to frown. "_Varric wasn't kidding_," he thought. Hawke crossed the room, pulled up a chair, and started to rub her shoulders with some intermittent healing magic. He wasn't Anders but he knew a thing or two. Her nipples rose above the surface of the steamy water with each stroke. He tried to not notice, shifting in his chair.

"I've been racing around like a maniac since I woke up this afternoon," she said, "It wasn't until a bit ago that I felt normal again. At least, I _think_ this is normal..." Now she felt like she was moving through honey. She raised her arm and let the water dribble through her fingers.

Hawke felt _really_ bad now. Showing off his magical prowess wasn't worth this.

"Bela...I have something to tell you..."

"Fine, ugh, just...help me out first."

She lifted herself up and got out, dripping. Hawke wrapped her in a towel and patted her dry, trying his damnedest to not be turned on.

"Would you like a poultice?" he asked.

"Yes, and you in my bed," she replied, grumpily.

"_Shit_," he thought. "Isa, about that," he said, reaching in his pack for the promised remedy.

She looked at him, crossly, "About what? I've had a **terrible** day and now you aren't going to bed me?"

"Isa, I...I won a bet."

"...Congratulations. What does that have to do with fucking me?" She downed the poultice like it was a shot and shook in response.

He squirmed. "Um...well. You probably aren't going to _want_ to after I tell you what the wager was..."

It clicked; that little... "Hawke! What the **fuck**! How did you- how _could_ you!"

"It was Haste! You like that one!"

He dodged her right hook but not the dagger she threw from her nightstand. Hawke pulled it out of his shoulder and healed himself as he ran out of the room.

"Keep running you asshole!" the pirate yelled from her home's entrance as her towel fell to her feet. Then, kicking the towel back inside, she slammed the door.

* * *

><p><span>Update 3<span>: For all Isabela fans, please know that this chapter *SUCKS* for her. But I _**promise**_ it gets better.


	2. Bandanna

**Years before...**

"So, apostate mage, huh? ...Where did you learn your..._talents_?" she purred, drinking her ale slowly and sizing up his Ferelden farm-boy arms, disheveled hair, and...piercing eyes. Isabela glanced away, avoiding those eyes and gulping down a little bit more of her drink than she intended.

Hawke quirked a smile. Through tan, she had the faintest blush under her glinted eyes before she turned away. He couldn't help but peek at her heaving cleavage. "I guess you could say, I was 'home-schooled'; Father was an apostate too..."

She caught his stare. "Like what you see?"

He quickly threw back his drink to avoid her gaze.

"Ahm, sorry," Hawke muttered. Then he gathered his courage and looked her full in the face, "I, look, I've been thinking and...you're _really_ pretty...um...could we...again...you know, sometime?"

A mischievous smile crept across her face. "Sure,"she said, rising from her chair.

"Now?"

"Why not," she shrugged.

"Oh! Um...okay!"

"_A little over-eager_," she thought, "_but, teaching him is fun. __**Creative**__ mage, that one."_

**Upstairs...**

Isabela undressed efficiently while Hawke hopped on one foot to get free of his pant leg.

"Isa, I'd like to try something."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, here, lay down and hold still. Oh, and close your eyes."

She complied for the most part, watching his ass as he bent to rummage in his pants and pack.

"Hey, no peeking!"

"Fine," she said with a huff and closed her eyes. Isabela heard the clinking of glass vials ("_His lyrium, no doubt_") and felt something cover her face.

"What's this?" snatching it off of herself.

"Trust me, you'll see...erm, feel," he replied with a wink. He was naked except for the lyrium vials he held in front of his...attentive...self.

"_He __**has**__ been thinking about this._" The thought pleased her and she replaced his red bandanna over her face.

Hawke set the vials on the nightstand and downed one quickly. Kneeling at the foot of her bed, lightening skipped between his fingers. It occasionally arced to the pirate. She let moans of anticipation escape through the bandanna as the smell of ozone filled her nostrils.

"Did Anders tell you...?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

Hawke shrugged. He started massaging her feet, calves, thighs, and then where her thighs met. Her back arched and toes curled as he bent his fingers within her just so and thumbed her clit.

"**Faster!**" she demanded.

"Heh. Knew you say that," he said, reaching for another vial and uncorking it with his teeth. Hawke spit the cork, emptied the vial, and tossed it into the waste bin without looking. "_Alright_," congratulating himself on the shot.

"**Please!**"

Back on task, he cast Haste onto himself and went _astonishingly_ faster. But, right as she was about to climax, he withdrew.

"**What are-?**"

He pulled her up, pinned her onto the wall, and entered her in one seamless movement. Burying his face into her chest, he repeatedly rammed into Isabela with a force and speed she'd never previously experienced.

Their releases were _thunderous_.

Downstairs, some patrons looked around the noisy tavern to see if anyone else had heard_...something_. The tavern mabari licked his chops.

Exhausted, Isabela rested her cheek on the top of Hawke's head, the bandanna now on her shoulder. "How were you able to go so _fast_?"

"It's called 'Haste'," he said, smiling into her sweaty breasts.

"And so hard?"

"Heroic Aura...Um, the _Chantry_ came up with the names."

"Call them what you want, but I **like** those," she replied.

When she stirred to clean up, he quickly emptied his final vial of lyrium and cast once more. A gravitic ring surrounded them.

"S t a y,_a t_l e a s t_f o r_a_l i t t l e_l o n g e r," he said, slowly licking up her neck. The disused red bandanna glided like a feather to the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>Present...<strong>

"No Wicked Grace tonight, huh?" Varric asked Hawke, waggling his eyebrows like Hawke had done earlier.

"Shut up. ...I still won. See how much of an _awesome_ mage I am?" he said, disgusted with himself and gesturing up the stairs that he just flew down in retreat.

Varric paused. "Want a drink?"

"No."

"Want some advice?"

The mage looked at him with irritation that quickly softened. "Is it along the lines of 'Don't play me at Wicked Grace because I'm awesome. And then try to win back your losses by being a dick to your girlfri-, er, or whatever she is'?"

"...That _is_ good advice, but not what I was thinking," replied the dwarf.

"Fine, I'll hear it," Hawke said, overtly snatching a drink from Varric's unattended mug.

"First, give her the money. Second, do that trick again-"

"Varric! What the-"

"Do it again _at the Wounded Coast_ tomorrow. And **don't** try to 'tucker her out without even touching her' again. Well, without her _permission_ anyway," then to himself, "Dumbass."

"But I thought-"

"You got your gold because you can cast all the way from Hightown. You could have turned the beer green and it would have counted. Casting on _her_ was your idea and mistake one."

Hawke interrupted, "But I could _find_ her. Ale in a **tavern** is hard to focus on."

"Fine...you could have...stopped the pervert _mabari_ from humping everyone's legs. Something, _anything_. ...Thinking you could bed Isabela afterward was just pure ego. And mistake two."

"She _did_ demand it...before I told her..."

Varric looked at him, incredulously, "Well...at least you're an _honorable_ moron." He paused, then continued, "...I know I'm **a** little brother, but...Carver...," then trailed off.

Hawke held his head in his hands, feeling the concerned gaze of his perceptive friend. "...I miss him, Varric."

"I know Hawke. We all do."


	3. Sunset

**The next evening...**

Isabela had been hanging on Fenris all day. Hawke knew she was doing it to piss him off but Hawke also knew he deserved it. Hearing her giggle and coo, Hawke kicked at the sand and waited. As Fenris stalked off, he glared at the mage and said, "**Talk** to her, Hawke. If she tries to, to **_tickle_** me **one more time**, I..." The elf snarled and stormed off without finishing his sentence.

Hawke sheepishly approached the pirate. She was lounging on a blanket, scrunching sand between her toes. She didn't look up before she spoke, "Why, hello Champion," sarcastically.

He took it and returned, "Um, hi. ...This is for you." He knelt and dropped the pouch of sovereigns next to her. "My...erm, your winnings."

Isabela eyed the pouch then looked up at him. The view of Isabela with the sunset behind her undid him.

Her form outlined by the pinks and purples of the sky.

Her wind-tousled hair.

Her honey-colored eyes. ..

"So, how is what you did to me that much different than blood magic?"

Stung by that, he winced.

"Isa, I'm...I'm SO sorry. It was really, really, **really** _**wrong**_ and _stupid_ of me to, to... I was showing off and not _thinking_..." his shoulders slumped as he sighed, "You deserve better than that."

"Don't worry, I'll have my revenge one way or another," she replied with a laugh, her voice cracking with hurt, to her annoyance.

"I'd like to make it up to you."

"My ship?"

"Bela... He was a slaver! What kind of friend would I be to Fenris...what kind of _Champion_ would I be, letting him steal people, _our neighbors_? I couldn't let him _live_!"

"_What_ then? This ought to be good."

"...May I cast on you?"

Her eyes narrowed, "Last time I puked, remember?"

"Nothing without your permission," Hawke replied, with a bow of his head.

Isabela warily stood up to put on her boots.

"You won't need those."

"What?"

"Just...walk toward that sand bar over there."

Isabela glanced back at him, suspicious, and started walking into the breaking waves. She discovered the water wasn't rising even though she was nearly to her destination. Looking down, she saw her feet skiing over the water. Delighted, she skipped and spun, untying her hair so the wind could take it as she danced.

She wasn't the Siren that she pretended to be, that she thought she was.

She was...a mermaid.

She was daughter of the gods Oceanus and Tethys themselves.

When the sun was just a red memory on the horizon, Isabela returned to shore, beaming.

"Which one was that?"

"...Haste," the mage replied.

She snorted.

"...It's not a ship, but...I want to do that for you..._with_ you, whenever _you_ would like. Nothing without your...consent...Isabela," he said, reaching for her hand.

She was taken back. Hawke never called her that; it was always, "Isa" or "Bela" but never...

She tentatively took his extended hand and he pulled her close for a kiss.

Fingers tangled in her wet hair, he said, "You're amazing, Isabela. It was...a gift...to see that. ...I...I love you."

"Oh, shut up, Charmer," she said before deepening the kiss, saltwater (and tears) running down her cheek.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hawke as home-schooled farm kid. How'd I do...?

Unrelated: Who else wants a Tickle-Me Fenris! ?

Update: Sorry, ^that author's note was a buzz kill, huh?


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